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expose ancient beams, knocked out partition walls to join up poky little rooms, put in cocktail bars and usually found a place somewhere for a wrought-iron Spanish ornamental gate. There was nothing to be done about a cesspit except lift the iron cover, peer in and drop it hastily back in place. The settlers from London cut down old diseased fruit trees to turn gardens into paddocks—sometimes making the mistake of buying local horses on the cheap—and rose early to exercise fashionable dogs. For the first time the Pied Bull had vodka on sale, and the village shop now stocked yoghourt in various flavours.
    A paternalistic US government assured military personnel volunteering for overseas service that the comforts awaiting them abroad were no less complete than those they had come to expect at home. In fulfilment of this promise, a stream of air transports began to fly in to Effingham, laden with deep-freezers, washing-machines, pressure- and microwave cookers, hi-fi equipment, Hoovers, electric organs and even Persian carpets. Many of those for whom this flood of goods were destined had become accustomed to an annual trade-in of their possessions, replacing old models with new, and one of the major disadvantages to life overseas was that no regular outlets existed for discarded equipment. Thus the system was threatened and a surplus built up, for the houses on base were small and soon glutted with gear.
    Dick was everybody’s friend. When consulted by the Americans about their quandary he immediately discussed it with local shops and affluent villagers like the Broadbents. A number of these offered to help the Americans out, and slowly the flow of consumer durables was renewed. It was the commitment to Jane’s future that turned Dick into a salesman. First he accepted small gifts, then a trifling commission, then finally obliged American friends by giving them a price for some article for which there was no immediate sale. This Dick would have to hold until a customer could be found. And so the process of trade developed. Dick was a reluctant and therefore good salesman, a little troubled in his conscience about the legality of what was going on, and there was a melancholic religiosity about him that was reassuring both to seller and buyer.
    Dorothea and Dick continued to live on Cornish pasties and sugar-beet tops. Dick did not like to talk about finance but Dorothea confided that, in the first few months of his operations, they had been able to add enough to the cache of money somewhere under their floor to pay for a year’s schooling at Woodford. It was arranged that Jane would enter Gladben’s in the coming September.
    These mildly illicit activities brought Dick close to others of a more dangerous kind. He was approached by a senior sergeant newly arrived in the country with what sounded at first a tempting proposition. The sergeant had heard of Dick’s connections and said that a source of supply of goods of a better kind had opened up. He showed Dick a Sears Roebuck catalogue and said that most of the items listed could be made available at about half-price.
    The feeling I got was that he had already half-committed himself, but something was clearly worrying him.
    ‘The first thing you have to do is to find out where the stuff’s coming from,’ I told him.
    ‘I have. It got sent here instead of to Germany and they’re stuck with it up at the base.’
    ‘Why don’t they send it back?’
    ‘He says there’s no laid-down procedure. If it’s here, it’s here. They’ve got to get shot of it as best they can or it’ll stay here for ever. All they want to do is recover the cost price.’
    ‘Nobody will believe a story like that,’ I told him. ‘Where is it now?’
    ‘In Warehouse 8. I’ve seen some of it.’
    ‘How does this man strike you? Do you get the feeling he’s a crook?’
    ‘He’s like any sergeant. A bit tough. They get used to ordering people about.’
    ‘I hope you’re not in this